


Behind Locked Doors

by Hannelore_Grace



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Consensual Bestiality, Knotting, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 21:24:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannelore_Grace/pseuds/Hannelore_Grace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg's got a secret, and John's got a kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind Locked Doors

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Socklife for the Secret Santa Rant Exchange found here:
> 
> http://sherlock-rant.livejournal.com/10843.html?page=1#comments

John should have known that attempting to sidle into Baker Street without Sherlock noticing was utterly pointless. He should have just strolled in like everything was normal, like he hadn't just been-- best not to think about that just yet. He already had _guilt_ written on his features without adding _sex_ to it as well.

“If the prodigal flatmate hasn't returned,” Sherlock called from where he was perched on a stool, hovering over something that was emitting fumes in an altogether worrisome fashion. “You _reek_.”

“Yes, thank you, nice to see you as well.”

John hung up his coat and debated what his next move should be. If he stayed here chatting for too long Sherlock would surely sniff out what he'd been doing-- and more importantly, with whom-- but if he bolted to his room and the shower then Sherlock's nosy instincts would only be piqued further. Better just act as casual as possible then before slipping off at the first opportunity.

“Whatever schemes you're attempting to devise to fool me, they won't work. I already know that not twenty minutes ago you were bouncing on someone's cock in a semi-public location. The only question is, why are you trying to hide it from me? You've never tried to cover up your female conquests.”

Christ, but was Sherlock an arsehole. And hearing him utter _cock_ in such a derisive tone really shouldn't make John's own prick give a hopeful twitch in his pants. John's tongue darted across his lips as he attempted to regain his bearings and some semblance of control over the situation.

“You can't possibly know any of that--”

“Can't I? The state of your trousers says sex; they're creased as if they've been pulled down but not off entirely. Shoved down around your knees and kept there for a while, then. Long enough for the wrinkles to set in at least. Your legs say you were doing most of the work. Your gait is off, like you've got cramps in your thighs and calves. If you'd been with a woman, you'd be touching your abdominals thanks to the lingering burn of thrusting. But you weren't _thrusting_ , were you? You were bouncing, a motion which wouldn't achieve much if you were the one doing the penetrating. The flush and stink of sex is still all over you as well, which means that the act wasn't done long ago. Not enough time for you to have been at someone's flat then returned here-- unless you were shagging poor Mrs. Hudson, which I doubt given her lack of a penis or any sex toys resembling one-- which means that you did the act somewhere semi-public and nearby, most likely the toilet at Speedy's or your partner's car.”

Silence laid thick in the air as John debated whether he should bolt or hit Sherlock across the jaw. Of course Sherlock began speaking again before he could make his decision.

“How close was I then?”

“Too bloody close. It was the car, by the way, and if you don't stop talking now I'm telling Mrs. Hudson you went rooting through her flat looking for dildos.”

Had John not taken a strategic retreat up the stairs to his room, he might have seen Sherlock's mouth fall open then quickly shut once again before any protests were made. Mrs. Hudson always did get so defensive about her private affairs.

-oOo-

“And why, exactly, do you have to live in the arsehole of London?”

Greg looked up from where he was nudging a pile of laundry, as if he could kick it into the neat, folded stack he wished it'd been in before he'd brought John over.

“Rent's cheaper,” he grunted, giving up on the laundry as a lost cause and moving to encircle John in his arms.

“Long commute, though.”

“More time to think about cases.”

“Less time for shagging,” John pointed out, and rightfully so. Since they'd first started drunkenly snogging at the pub during their weekly moan about Sherlock, they'd only fucked in a proper bed three times. Otherwise it was frantic rutting in toilets, cars, and one memorable instance in a storage closet. 

“You're the one who's too afraid of getting fucked with His Highness in earshot.” Greg pinched John's arse, the corners of his lips turning up as John's body jolted in his arms.

“If you had any sense you'd be afraid of it, too. He'd probably walk in mid-fuck and start critiquing our technique.”

“Mmm, sexy,” Greg drawled, his lips just barely grazing the shell of John's ear. “Would be hot, I think. That voice of his telling us exactly what to do. Telling me how to make you _squeal_.”

“You're bottoming for that one, mister,” John laughed. He gave Greg's arse a slap, then dragged him by his wrist in the direction of the bedroom. “Besides, turnabout is fair play.”

“Oi! You're the one that's been begging for it!”

All it took was a firm push with the flat of John's palms to send Greg sprawling across the bed. Laughing, Greg wrapped his legs around John and dragged him down with him.

“You're the one that phoned in the dead of night to say you'd been rutting into your pillows just thinking about my cock,” Greg breathed against John's neck as he mouthed his way to the collar of his shirt. 

Greg's hand pushed down into John's slacks, grabbing a palmful of his arse and squeezing, dragging John closer so they could lazily roll their hips against one another. As the friction built between them, John groaned and rolled away.

“Oh no, you're not getting out of it that easily,” he scolded. “C'mon. Strip.”

“Oooh, going to go all bossy on me, are you?” Greg teased, though he obediently started tossing off his clothes all the same. “Shall I call you Captain or sir?”

“I think you can keep your mouth shut altogether.”

John moved in front of Greg and quickly finished divesting him of his pants, his own mouth watering when Greg's half-hard cock bobbed free of his cotton shorts. There was a reason his libido had shot through the roof recently, and it had a fair bit to do with the flushed, stiffening, two-handfuls of prick laid bare in front of him. Immediately John had Greg shoved flat on his back so he could kiss and suck his cock to full hardness.

“Christ, it's like it gets bigger every time I shag you,” he said between light brushes of his lips against Greg's shaft. His lips wrapped around Greg's dark pink tip and he hollowed his cheeks, rubbing the tip of his tongue against Greg's frenulum. His hum of pleasure was almost entirely drowned by the deep, rumbling groan that came from above him.

“Keep talking like that and you'll give me a big head.”

“I think I already am, dear,” John replied, emphasizing his innuendo with a wet lick of Greg's cock.

Greg laughed and gave John's hair a playful tug. “That joke was so piss-poor I think I've earned back my right to top.”

“Absolutely not! This is our first time getting to fuck on a bed in nearly two weeks, so I'm taking full advantage of it.”

With that, John slapped Greg's thigh then flipped him over onto his stomach, giving his bare arse another sharp swat when he protested the rough handling. Soon, though, John's fingers were thrusting into Greg's entrance and all was forgotten but the slick slide of those clever digits inside his body. He arched his back and pushed into the touch, stifling a low moan as he began rocking back onto John's fingers. When John's cock replaced his fingers Greg slid around him easily, their groans and heavy breaths in sync with one another.

For a while all that could be heard in the room was panting breaths and the creaking of Greg's old bed as they rocked together. Gradually the thrusting became more frantic, more needy, only to be interrupted by a frustrated groan from John as his hips grew still, his cock still buried deep inside Greg. Greg gave a few more needy thrusts but eventually gave up as well, unable to force John's cock to rub against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside him.

“Switch?” he panted, forcing himself not to take his cock in hand and just wank off then and there. Though the look on John's face would've been priceless, he'd rather not have to sit on a sore bottom thanks to the spanking doing so would inevitably earn him.

“Yeah. Yeah, let's switch,” John nodded. He pulled out of Greg, tracing his thumb apologetically over his flushed and slick entrance before falling onto the bed with his knees pulled up to his chest. “Sorry. You've ruined me for topping, I think. At least til I can stop salivating over your cock.”

“No problem. I'm not fussed.” Greg kissed John firmly, their lips moving hotly against each other while Greg quickly pushed the pad of his finger into John.

“Don't bother with that,” John panted between nips at Greg's lower lip. “I want to feel every inch of you pushing into me.”

Greg's pulse quickened, and he nodded. “Yeah, alright. Tell me if you wanna stop.”

A slick fist closed around his cock, and after a few strokes he was coated from his balls to his tip in lube. He nudged forward, aligning himself with John's body, then pushed, just barely edging himself into John's tight, eager body.

John groaned and hoisted his legs up closer to his chest when Greg's tip pushed through the first ring of muscles. “God, yes. Feels amazing.”

“Doesn't look too bad, either,” Greg observed, watching as his shaft sank deeper and deeper into John's body. His thumb traced around the stretched ring of muscle, making John twitch and gasp. “An arse like yours belongs in porn.”

“How romantic. Come on now, go a bit faster. I'm not one of those blow-up dolls you keep under your bed; I won't pop.” John pushed his hips up, forcing Greg in deeper.

“You're a bastard, John Watson, and for that I'm going to pound you so hard your sister feels it.” He snapped his hips forward to prove his point, making John's indignant grunt turn into more of a yelp.

“That's disgusting, Greg! God. Next time I'm gagging you,” John panted once he'd regained his bearings.

“No, you won't. You'd miss me telling you what a filthy slut you are. Miss me talking about all the things I'm going to do to you when we have a free weekend.”

Greg pulled back, then thrust forward again, pushing his cock into John until he was buried to his balls. They both took a moment to catch their breath, then John wriggled impatiently. Obligingly, Greg began pistoning his hips, starting out slowly then gradually building speed once John had fully relaxed into it.

“And what...things...are those?” John asked, his words faltering as he kept getting distracted by the firm, hot slide of Greg's cock inside him, the hard thrusts of Greg's hips that left him gasping and clutching at Greg's back.

“First I'm going to rim you. I'm going to get you all warm and naked in the tub, then bend you over the edge of it and lick you out until you're begging me to touch your cock. I won't, though. I'm going to make you crawl from the bathroom to the bedroom, that pretty arse of yours up on full display for me. Might even get some rope so I can keep you in that position the rest of the night.”

Greg panted, catching his breath as he let the image of John held submissive in rope filled his mind. He grabbed hold of the headboard and began shoving into John even harder, pushing so hard that his body was shoved further up the mattress. 

“God, how I'd love to have you all trussed up, your arse slicked and plugged so I can come fuck you any time I want,” Greg continued. “I'd get a small plug, though. One to keep you nice and tight until I shove my cock inside you. I'll make you squeal with it. Might get one of those plugs with the curly little tails on them so I can call you my piggy. You'll be my fuck toy, my pet, and you'll love it so much, John.”

Every word panted into his ear made John's already painfully hard cock give needy twitches. He arched his back, trying to take Greg's prick even deeper though he was already buried as far as he would go. Giving little, keening whines, John nodded, agreeing to everything Greg said.

“Fuck, you're such a slut for my cock, aren't you? Bet I can make you come just by fucking you over and over again, telling you what a whore you are. Or maybe I'll just milk you dry. Put you in a cock ring so you can't come and fuck you until your balls are empty and you're crying 'cause you've gotta come so bad.”

“Yes, Greg. Fuck, yes. That, all of that. Do it to me, make me your bitch,” John cried, taking his own cock in hand and beginning to stroke himself off to the hard snap of Greg's hips. His own legs were wrapped around Greg's back now, hanging on for dear life as he was pounded into the mattress.

For several moments neither one of them was capable of speech. Greg's balls were slapping against the plump curve of John's arse, and every so often he'd shift his knees slightly, making John cry out as the angle of Greg's cock changed. Greg himself was grunting and groaning; his whole body was alight with pleasure, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer. He grabbed a handful of John's hair and yanked his head back, exposing John's neck so he could muffle his own cries against his skin as his orgasm tore through him, forcing one last hard slam of his hips out of him before they went completely still, his cock pumping spurts of semen deep inside John's body. Clumsily, he fumbled for John's prick and began stroking him off, though he knew it wouldn't take much to bring John over the edge at this point. Sure enough, within a few firm rubs of his hand John's head had fallen back, a look of ecstasy etched into his features while his body shook and his toes curled into the sheets.

For several long moments the room was filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and the pounding of their hearts in their ears. Eventually Greg pulled out of John's pliant body and rolled to the side, sprawling onto the mattress tiredly.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and a quiet “Mmm” of agreement came from the lump that was John next to him.

-oOo-

“ _Lestrade_ , really?” Sherlock demanded as soon as John walked (or rather, limped) into the flat.

He'd known that Sherlock would piece things together eventually, so he simply shrugged.

“What of it?”

“He's _my_ DI, for one thing--”

“Hold up, he's not yours just because you happened to meet him first!”

“-- And for another, I'm fairly certain he practices witchcraft. Wouldn't want to get mixed up in that nonsense, would you?” The look on Sherlock's face as he imparted this bit of information was intolerably smug, and John couldn't quite decide if he wanted to slap him or not.

“He doesn't practice witchcraft, you git,” he countered, choosing brewing tea over violence. “What in the hell would give you that idea?”

Sherlock trailed after John into the kitchen, though from his stride one might think he was swaggering onto a stage or an encore performance of his genius.

“Firstly, he consistently leaves work early-- well, slightly less late than usual-- on nights of the full moon. The next day he either calls in sick or shows up looking like he's managing a bad hangover on top of coming off the tail-end of a week long insomnia streak.”

“Maybe he's just over-tired from dealing with you,” John grumbled.

“And,” Sherlock continued, undeterred, “He always, _always_ stops at the shops on the way home to buy a truly frightening amount of raw meat.”

“So he likes steaks. What of it?”

“Normally Lestrade's shopping happens on the weekend usually right after he goes for a jog, which inevitably leads him to optimistically buying far too many fresh vegetables and not nearly enough ready meals. Besides that, he buys more of the meat than one could possibly eat before it expires, and I know for a fact that his freezer is not nearly large enough to hold it all for any length of time. So he uses the meat quickly, but he does not share it with a guest. More than likely using it for ritualistic purposes, then. I haven't quite figured out _what_ ritual, exactly. There are so many...” Sherlock trailed off, pondering this little mystery before plowing onward.

“Then, of course, there is the most damning evidence.”

“Oh? And what's that?” John asked mildly. He was sat at the kitchen table now, stirring sugar into his tea. When Sherlock was in a mood like this, there was no stopping him from flouncing his evidence in front of an audience.

“He has a secret cellar,” Sherlock announced, rounding on the table and leaning over it with his palms flat on the wood. “A well-locked, _hidden_ cellar. Now, who has one of those if they're not doing something untoward in it?”

Now that rather caught John's attention. He'd been in Greg's house several times and never once had he seen anything that looked like a door to a cellar.

“Maybe he has valuables down there,” John suggested doubtfully; Greg seemed far too pragmatic to keep a secret stash of gold locked up when he'd very nearly gone bankrupt during the divorce. The incredulous arch of Sherlock's eyebrow suggested he thought the same.

“Regardless,” John continued, “It's none of our business. Thanks for your concern, but I'm fine. I'm perfectly capable of looking out for my own love life, thanks.”

Sherlock made a “Hmph” sound that suggested he thought otherwise, but then a knock at the door sent him running off to take a tray of biscuits from Mrs. Hudson, and John was able to make his escape up to his room.

He laid in bed trying to convince himself that he was alright with Greg keeping secrets-- hell, the gun tucked under his bed in a lockbox said he was being more than a little bit hypocritical-- but no matter how he argued with himself he just could not shake the feeling that Sherlock was right.

Greg was certainly hiding _something_ , and until John knew what it was he didn't know if it was a “something” he could live with.

-oOo-

For the next couple of months John tried to forget about what Sherlock had told him, but at the same time he could no longer ignore the evidence. He now noticed when Greg was worn-out and bedraggled-looking following the full moon. He couldn't look away when he saw odd bruises and cuts on Greg's body. He especially took note of the fact that Greg never, _ever_ allowed John over on the dates of the full moon, nor did he ever once mention having a cellar. It wasn't terribly bothersome, really; after all, it was just a cellar. Plenty of people had ones boarded up because they'd rather not deal with the musty old things. But at the same time John couldn't help but feel irritated that Greg was hiding things from him.

He let Greg know all of his most secret and embarrassing kinks, after all. He _trusted_ Greg, and it stung to see more and more evidence that Greg was keeping things, possibly important things, from him.

-oOo-

“Sherlock says you practice witchcraft,” John blurted some eight months into their relationship. He hadn't meant to bring it up so abruptly, but he currently had Greg nearly drooling in post-coital bliss and had decided that now what as good a time as any.

Stupid, that. He'd been rather enjoying watching Greg fighting the urge to doze off, his body all flushed, pliant, and sleepy. Now, however, he'd snapped straight awake and his eyes had lost all the foggy, sexed out softness that John loved to see in them.

“And why's that?” Greg asked.

“You've got a secret cellar and buy too much raw meat before the full moon.” John watched as Greg's eyes widened just a fraction more than usual, then he quickly donned a mask of uncaring. He was about to lie, then.

“Stupid git. The cellar's locked up because I'm pretty sure it's a biohazard, and I don't buy any more meat before full moons than I do on any other day of the week. And why's he stalking me while I'm doing my shopping?”

“I don't know,” John said, giving Greg a placating smile, “But he also says you need to buy less veg and more ready meals.”

“Bastard.”

“While I agree whole-heartedly about Sherlock, you're lying, and I know it.” John crawled up the length of Greg's body and looked down at him sternly. “Why have you got a secret cellar if it's not for witchcraft?”

“If I told you it was my sex dungeon where I engage in masochistic self-abuse, will you leave me alone?”

“Mmm, no, because that's a lie too. Also, it's a piss-poor one, because I'd want to see your sex dungeon and give it a try for myself.”

John dropped down onto his elbows and lightly nipped Greg's lower lip, hoping to make his slightly anxious expression soften.

“Come on. You can tell me. We've been together so long some couples might be talking about marriage at this point. Well, bat-shit insane couples, if you ask me, but that's beside the point. Point is, I think we're serious enough that you can tell me why you've got a secret cellar that not even Sherlock can break into.”

John knew he was coming dangerously close to wheedling. He also knew that he was coming to the point where Greg would either shove him off and start a row, or he'd finally cave and tell him what the hell was going on. Hoping for the latter, John gave Greg a beseeching look and waited.

The wait felt like it stretched on for a painfully tense eternity, but eventually Greg let out a long sigh.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “If you must know, I'm a werewolf. The cellar is where I lock myself up to keep myself from eating people.”

Three beats of silence weighed heavily between them before John's face cracked into a smile and the whole room was filled with his loud barks of laughter.

-oOo-

“A werewolf?”

“Yep.”

“And those are...?”

“Claw marks.”

“In the concrete.”

“There was a reason I didn't have hardwood installed down here.”

“Ha- bloody fucking- ha. So, you're serious? Every full moon you turn into a wolf thing and go berserk trying to get out to go rip people into ribbons?”

“Basically, yeah. Do you want to break things off?”

“No. Well...Maybe. I don't know.”

“I won't blame you if you do. No hard feelings at all. I won't even take it out on Sherlock at crime scenes. Well, maybe a little bit, but not beyond reason.”

“I honestly don't know right now. It's a bit much, isn't it? I almost wish you'd been using dead animal carcasses to summon Satan down here.”

“Yeah, you and me both.”

-oOo-

“I've decided.”

Greg tried not to look nervous as he stepped back to allow John into his home. John himself looked to be thrumming full of anxious energy, so there was no point in him adding to it.

“Have you? And?”

“And I want you to fuck me doggy style, wolf-man,” John grinned, grabbing two handfuls of Greg's shirt and shoving him up against the wall. “Make me your _bitch_.”

Had Greg wanted to, he wouldn't have been able to make a single protest thanks to the hard press of John's mouth against his and the thoroughly distracting manner in which his crotch was being palmed at.

Fortunately, he didn't want to.

-oOo-

“No, absolutely not.”

“Why not?” John demanded, looking Greg squarely in the eye while Greg struggled to look anywhere but at John.

“I don't want you to see me like that. More importantly, I don't want you getting hurt.”

“I won't be hurt. I've listened to you the past few times, and you're always calmed down by about six. Besides, I don't even have to get too close to you. I can easily stand at the top of the stairs and get a look.”

“Oh, great, and while we're at it why don't we go ahead and get a proper cage. Maybe sell tickets to the whole neighborhood inviting them to come “get a look”,” Greg said bitterly, causing John to reach out and grab his wrist.

“That's not what I meant and you know it. I just wish you'd let me be a part of this, even if it is just a little part.”

Greg's expression softened ever so slightly, but he shook his head all the same. “I'm sorry John, but I just really don't like the idea of it.”

John sighed and nodded. “Okay. We can shelf the idea for now.”

“For now,” Greg said, his lips quirking up slightly in a knowing smile.

-oOo-

If Greg'd had his way, the conversation would have been shelved for good. Unfortunately, as with most things in his life-- and even moreso since Sherlock had stumbled into it-- things didn't exactly go his way. The conversation never happened again, but John got his wishes altogether sooner than Greg would ever have wanted regardless.

-oOo-

A growl, a crash, silence, then a whimper.

John looked up from the telly toward the cellar door, eyebrows arched in concern. He'd grown used to the noises Greg made down there-- the howls, the clawing, the growling, the barking-- but whimpers like that were a first. They continued for a while, the low whines of an animal in trouble, but just as John was rising from his chair to go investigate Greg fell into silence once again.

John glanced at the clock. Only half past one, best to leave it for now.

He settled back down to wait out the rest of the night. His eyes kept darting back over to the clock and his ears prickled from listening so hard for signs of distress from below, but all stayed calm. Minutes crawled languorously slowly, making John's knuckles itch as he waited then waited some more. Finally half five flashed on the clock, and John decided that was quite long enough to wait. He grabbed his medical kit and the tranquilizer Greg had given him, then he went to the closet to open the cellar door. The code Greg had put on the lock was complex (“didn't want to risk me pawing in the code by accident”), so much so that John had it saved on his mobile. Looking from his phone screen to the keypad he punched the numbers in, then listened for the tell-tale sound of the bolts sliding out of position.

And that was that. He was tempted to hold his breath as he eased himself down the stairs, but he doubted there was any point. Greg would have heard the bolts in the door, so for better or for worse there was no point in trying to sneak up on him. Clutching his bag in one hand with the tranquilizer ready in the other, John stepped down from the last creaky stair and clicked on the light.

His first thought was, _big_.

His second was, _holy shit_.

Of course when faced with as much evidence as he had been given, John hadn't doubted Greg's claims. However, believing him and seeing Greg in his current state were two entirely separate things. John had not once imagined that Greg would look so utterly terrifying in his other form; he was ashamed to admit to himself that despite the myths and legends he'd always rather thought that Greg would look, well, more like a dog. A bit of a mangy one, but still something as cuddly as his human self.

The last word John would use to describe the creature in front of him was “cuddly”. From snout to tail it was probably as long as Greg was tall, and even with it curled up on the dingy mattress Greg kept in the cellar John could tell that it was broader, more muscular than any dog. Its tail thumped hard on the ground, making John step back in fear. Given how everything else about it looked, well, rather monstrous, John was shocked when the animal opened its eyes and suddenly it seemed very human. Though the shape of them was slightly different, it still retained Greg's eye coloration, and John would have swore that the look it was giving him was intelligent, understanding.

“Hey there,” he said, cautiously taking a step closer. “I'm just coming to check on you. It sounded like you might've got yourself into a bit of trouble.”

The creature's-- no, Greg's-- tail thumped onto the ground once again, and it took all of John's military training not to jump in surprise. He edged just a fraction closer then waited, staying vigilant for any signs that Greg was going to take offense to his presence, but then Greg stretched out on his mattress, muscles uncoiling in an impressive display and exposing the leg he had been holding tucked protectively under his body. Right away John could see blood matted into the coarse fur.

“Alright. Just let me have a look at that,” he said, slowly lowering himself onto the ground next to Greg's mattress. He hesitated at first, but then reached out and took hold of the injured leg to get a good look at it. The laceration was deep and oozing thick drips of blood. Fortunately though Greg didn't seem to have injured himself in any way that would cause permanent harm.

As John dabbed antibacterial ointment on the wound then wrapped it in some gauze he took the opportunity to give Greg and his room a proper once over. From what he could tell the leg had been injured in a bid for freedom from the cellar; the boarded up window had a piece of wood with a hole knocked through it, and the splintered edges looked like exactly the thing to have caused the cut on Greg's leg. Greg himself was simply watching John intently, hot breath blowing through his snout and onto John's arm. In fact, everything about him seemed to be boiling hot. The blood John dabbed away was still warm even after being exposed to the cold damp of the cellar, and his body positively radiated heat. When he was done treating the leg, John scooted slightly closer to the changed form of his boyfriend and tentatively stroked his hand down his side and flank.

“I've still got the tranquilizer, you know, so don't try biting my arm off,” he warned. He felt a huff of breath against his leg and couldn't help but chuckle. “You know, if you weren't a ravenous monster early in the night this would almost be cute.”

And that was certainly true. While Greg seemed to have mellowed out and somewhat regained his senses, it was obvious that this wasn't the case earlier in the night. The stack of meat he'd brought down the day before was now gone, nothing but a stain on the concrete flooring left from where he'd ripped it up and devoured it. The ground and walls had deep scratches in them from his claws, and John could see the markings embedded even deeper in the wood stairs. He struggled to imagine the sort of frantic desperation that would lead a creature to clawing up its cage so thoroughly. What was worse was imagining what Greg would be like if he actually managed to escape.

No, best not to think about that for now. John pushed aside the thought and continued petting the hulking creature laid out next to him, feeling the rise and fall of its chest underneath his hand. He watched it through the rest of the night, keeping an eye on the still bleeding wound until Greg made a pained noise and suddenly pushed himself up off the mattress. He knocked past John, practically laying him out flat on his back, then limped over to a darker corner of the cellar. Quickly grabbing up the tranquilizer, John watched with widened eyes as the wolf growled and whined, its body arching then rising onto his back paws with its front ones pressed against the wall. Shivers raced through the thick muscles of the creature, and it let out what sounded like a pained howl as bones began cracking. Horrified but equally unable to look away, John stared as Greg regained his human body, staggering for a moment before dropping weakly to the floor.

“Holy shit, Greg,” John said while hurrying over to his side. “Fuck, that was-- Just, shit.”

Greg laughed hollowly, nodding as he leaned gratefully into John's embrace. “I know. Awful, isn't it?”

“Depends, I guess. It was pretty alright for a while there. Not going to tell Sally I've been abusing you, are you?” John's fingers lightly brushed over the gauze around Greg's arm, checking to make sure it had stayed in place during Greg's transformation back into his usual self.

“Hm? Naaah. She's used to the weird bumps and bruises.”

Shivering in the cold of the cellar, Greg practically crawled into John's lap in search of body heat, though he was too exhausted to try dragging himself up the stairs to get dressed. Instead, he let his weight rest heavily on John, his eyes closing against his will.

“Go ahead and sleep,” John encouraged. “I'll take care of everything.”

And so he did. He tucked Greg up under a thick blanket after moving him to the mattress, then he brought down a bottle of water and some paracetamol. Eventually he laid down as well, curling up behind Greg so they could sleep wrapped around one another.

-oOo-

“No, no, no, no, _no_. God, John, sometimes I think you are legitimately, certifiably insane.”

“It is _not_ insane to want to be with your partner!”

“It is when they've bloody well got teeth and claws that could tear you open in a heart beat!” Greg protested, rounding on John and folding his arms. “No. Just because you've cuddled with me a few times in the wee morning hours does not mean I'm a tame thing. I'm not going to be responsible for you getting your cock snapped off, or worse.”

“It's been months, Greg, and not once have you made any aggressive moves against me,” John argued. “Months! I fed you out of my hand and you never even tried to bite my finger off!”

“Yes, and every time you always have a tranquilizer in hand, don't you?”

“I'll have one this time, too. I'm not stupid.”

“You literally just asked me to fuck you in my wolf form; there is absolutely nothing you can say or do that will make me think you're not cracked.”

“It's not that unreasonable!”

“It is so! You don't even know how big to expect me to be. What if I tore you open but didn't stop because I'm a fucking ANIMAL with animal instincts? Do you really want me to feel responsible for that the rest of my life?”

John chewed his lip, glancing up at Greg with an expression that had guilt written all over it. “I do sort of know how big to expect you to be, and I'm sure I can take it just fine.”

“Oh god. Do I even want to know what you've done?”

“Some research, for one thing. And...well, you _really_ like stomach scratchings when you're changed, and I felt bad for getting you all wound up and not giving you a hand.”

Greg boggled at John, his mouth agape. “Are you seriously telling me that you _jacked me off_?”

“Oh, come off it. You've had your tongue buried so far up my arse that you could probably taste what I ate for dinner. It's not like this is any worse.”

“It's more than a little unusual, though.”

“I don't know. There are those Furry things all over the place. It's not _that_ different from those.”

“You can not rationalize this, John. You absolutely can not. You wanked off a wolf cock.”

“No, I wanked off _your_ wolf cock. It'd be weird if I'd gone out and grabbed some random animal's dick, but it's yours, so I think it's just fine.”

Greg dragged his fingers through his hair and shook his head once again. “Still no. I just can't risk hurting you, John. Put yourself in my position. There have been several times when I've very nearly killed someone, and god only knows if I've ever succeeded or not. I don't think I have, but there's no real way to know for sure since I only remember the few hours right before I change back. What if you came in too soon? What if I turned aggressive part way through? There are too many unknowns. If you really want this I'll go buy one of those knotting dildos and a dog costume, but otherwise my answer is still no.”

“I suppose this is another conversation we'll just have to shelf, then,” John said, looking up at Greg with a small, wry smile. “And if you come near me while wearing a sexy doggy costume I'm taking a picture and putting it on one of those amateur porn sites. See if we can meet some of those Furries and have them convince you to shag me.”

“If you put me up on the internet, I will not hesitate to bite your dick right off, full moon or no.”

-oOo-

Wearing down Greg's reservations proved to be altogether more difficult than John had ever imagined it would be. He made a point of fucking himself with dildos of ever increasing sizes, greeting Greg with spread legs and a lubed-up hole but always moaning about it not being enough. He wanted a _knot_ , something to stretch him wide and made him beg for mercy. Greg didn't even bat an eye at John's antics, though they did try some experimentation with double penetration. John almost forgot about wanting Greg to breed him like his omega bitch when he was laying nearly comatose in bed, his arse absolutely throbbing in the best way imaginable.

Almost, but not quite.

While attempting to seduce him, John also worked at helping Greg accept that, at least in the last couple of hours before he changed back, he was perfectly calm and aware of his surroundings while in his wolf form. Every night that Greg changed, John was there early the next morning to pet, tickle, and scratch him. He fed him more chunks of meat out of his hand and used him as a pillow, reclining back against Greg's heat-radiating body in a manner that showed careless faith that Greg wasn't going to attack him.

The turning point, however, came one night when John was innocently scratching Greg's stomach, for once without ulterior motives. Greg wriggled underneath John's hand and gave a contented sigh, his hot breath causing goose flesh to prickle up John's arms. Smiling, John pushed his hand down lower, making sure to cover every inch of Greg's stomach. It wasn't until Greg wriggled more insistently that John realized what was happening.

“You see? You love this,” he chuckled as he finally noticed the reddened tip of Greg's cock peeking out of its sheath. “Horny bastard.”

He scratched a little more firmly, then he laid his palm flat against Greg's cock and began slowly rubbing it up and down. Greg allowed it for a little while, but then he rolled over, giving John's hand a rasping lick as he pushed himself to his feet.

“Oh, come on! It's not hurting anything.”

The look Greg gave him was one of the most eloquent John had ever received, and it was wholly unamused.

Considering, John broke into a sly grin. “You were enjoying it too much, weren't you? Too close to mounting me, eh? Well, look, it's alright if you do. I'm fully clothed, so it's not like you'd actually get inside me.”

He laid back on the mattress, beckoning Greg over. “Come on. We can both have a bit of fun. You can't even pretend you don't want it because I see that alpha cock of yours hanging between your legs.” Reaching between his legs, John began rubbing his own cock, looking directly at Greg as he brought himself to full hardness. “Please, Greg. Just try it. Just a little frot.”

Greg had edged somewhat closer, though not quite close enough for John's liking. He sniffed at the air, breathing in the scent of John's arousal. It always was an intoxicating smell; it was irresistable enough when he was in his human form, but now it was downright sinful. Unable to resist, he stepped closer and began nosing at John's crotch, snuffling as he breathed him in.

“Well, alright,” John chuckled, spreading his legs to allow it. Slowly, he began easing down his pajama bottoms and pants, exposing himself to the wet tip of Greg's nose. For a moment Greg looked as if he was going to shy away once again, but then he licked a long, wet, stripe up John's cock, making him yelp and thrust upwards at the same time.

“Jesus, Greg. Give a man some warning next time!” he huffed, reaching up to scratch behind Greg's ears. “Alright, though. If that's what you want to do, go right on ahead.”

And so Greg did, lapping eagerly at John's cock. It wasn't at all like getting sucked off; Greg's tongue was so much more agile than a human's, but it was rougher, too. Coarse. John moaned underneath Greg's ministrations, but eventually his cock became too sensitive to bear the rough scrape of Greg's tongue.

“Here, try this,” he suggested and rolled over onto his knees. He laid his chest on the mattress and reached back with his hands to hold himself open. “Go ahead, then. Rim me.”

A low whine came from behind him, but then Greg's hot tongue was on John, licking him from his balls to his arsehole. God, but was it strange. Not in a bad way, either, just odd. The rough slide of Greg's tongue between his cheeks soon had John's hips rutting, as if he would get friction on his cock that way. He allowed this for several minutes before groaning in frustration.

“Please, Greg. Please let me go get the lube,” he begged.

Behind him, Greg immediately stopped, stepping back to sit on his haunches. John turned to face him, letting his erect cock bob proudly between his legs.

“Please,” he repeated. “I'll keep the tranquilizer handy, and I'll prepare myself thoroughly. You don't have anything to worry about.”

The expression on Greg's face looked unconvinced, but slowly some of the dubiousness melted off it and he dipped his head in agreement. Breaking into a broad grin, John stood, kicking his bottoms off the rest of the way and giving Greg's head a scratch.

“I'll be right back,” he said, then disappeared up the stairs to get the bottle of lube and a dildo. He returned to find Greg pacing the room, his own cock still fully erect between his legs. “Don't worry, I'll take good care of you soon.”

John laid on the mattress with his arse presented once again, but this time he began slicking lube between his cheeks. His fingers trailed from his cleft down to his perineum, putting on a show because he was fully aware that Greg was watching him.

“Oooh, god, does that feel nice. Cold, though.”

Carefully, he pushed one then two fingers into himself, giving another moan for show as he wriggled his hips. Behind him, Greg gave a soft growl.

“Getting impatient, are we? Guess I'll go ahead and start with the dildo, then.”

Blunt pressure pushed against John's hole, then sank deep inside him as his body relaxed around the toy. Thrusting slowly at first then more firmly, John fucked himself open, anticipation as well as pleasure curling his toes. It only took several thrusts of the dildo before John was fully stretched, easily able to fuck himself with the toy. Afraid of ending the whole thing before it actually started, he stopped himself before he got too caught up in the act.

“Okay, Greg, I'm ready. Are you still okay?” He looked back over his shoulder and watched as Greg hesitated but then came closer, approaching cautiously as if just being too close to John would make his animal brain click into control once again.

“It's alright. I've got the tranquilizer right here. I'll stop you if things get too rough for me.”

Apparently deciding it was safe (finally, thank god), Greg gave John's arse cheek a lick then stood on his hind legs, his front paws pressing onto John's thighs as he finally, finally mounted him. Already John could feel Greg's hot cock rubbing against his entrance, very nearly making him lose his breath and go weak in the knees. God, it was so _big_. So much bigger than a normal cock, and John couldn't wait to have it inside him.

“Come on. It's alright. I can take it.”

Giving a few false starts, Greg tried to line himself up and thrust into John's willing body. Both were still unused to navigating these bodies, so it took a couple of tries before Greg finally got the tip of his cock into John's entrance. John felt it as soon as it was there, though; it was hot, much hotter than human skin, just like the rest of Greg. And god, was it lovely. John's mouth went dry as he spread his legs just a little wider so Greg could thrust into him properly.

“Fuck!” he gasped when Greg did just that, his furry chest pressed into John's back as instincts took over and he began frantically rutting into John's arse. “God, yes. That's it, Greg. Keep going. Don't you fucking dare stop.”

Getting fucked by Greg was unlike anything John had felt before. The sensations were so different, each brush of fur or scrape of claws or hot pant of breath against his ear making John's whole body tingle with need. He gave a keening whine and pushed back to meet Greg as best he could, matching him thrust for thrust.

“That's it,” he encouraged. “Fuck me hard. Knot me, make me your bitch. Oh god, Greg, I'm so hard right now, you have no idea.”

Giving a soft growl Greg licked John's ear, and that was just yet another point of pleasure added to the torrent already on top of John. He moaned appreciatively, adding his own noises to the panting of Greg's breath.

For a while the cellar was filled with the frantic sounds of their mating, Greg's whines and growls coupled with John's moans and cries. Suddenly though, John's cries picked up in volume as he felt Greg's knot beginning to swell and push through his entrance.

“Fuck, Greg, is that your knot? Oh god, it feels so good. Come on, take me, Greg. Make me your bitch. Breed me, please,” he begged, shuddering and then giving a loud, keening cry as the knot shoved even deeper into his arse.

Greg gave several more thrusts after that, his knot shoving roughly in and out of John's body until it was finally too swollen to come free. His hips rocked desperately for a moment, then suddenly he was pulsing inside John, sending spurt after spurt of near-scalding come into him. Trembling with near overwhelming urgency, John gripped his cock and began pumping himself with frenzied need. He didn't think he'd ever felt anything so amazing as having Greg buried inside him, knotted deep in his arse as he filled John up with his come. It barely took any friction at all on his cock before he was coming as well, his arse clenching and convulsing tight around Greg's prick and drawing even more come out of him.

“Jesus fuck,” John panted once he was wrung out, his come striped across the mattress. “Holy fucking hell, that was...that was just amazing. Christ.” He shivered and together they both lowered themselves down onto the mattress so John could lay at least a little bit comfortably with Greg still swollen inside him.

“Could stay like this all day,” he sighed. He was utterly blissed out, lost in a wash of tingling pleasure. Greg gave a soft huff behind him and licked his ear, making John giggle.

“Alright then, you mutt. I got what I wanted, so you can go to sleep now. Let's hope your cock comes out before you change back; I think it'd be bloody weird to feel your dick changing shape inside me.”

That earned him another lick to his ear, but eventually Greg did relax enough to drift off to sleep. John smiled contently as he felt the warm, even gusts of breath against his neck, the rise and fall of Greg's chest making the cock still held tight in John's arse shift somewhat. It was an odd but not unpleasant sensation, though John wished he had a short refractory period so they could have another go before Greg changed back.

But above all else though he was sated and happy; never before had he felt so thoroughly owned and looked after.


End file.
